


Hits Like Ecstasy

by crimsoncomradeposts



Category: Marriage Story (2019)
Genre: Blood, Blood Drinking, Blood Kink, Breeding, Choking, Cutting, Dark, Dark fic, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, F/M, Impact Play, Infidelity, Jealousy, Killer!Charlie, Knife Play, Light Bondage, Rough Sex, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, spitting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:26:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26511367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsoncomradeposts/pseuds/crimsoncomradeposts
Summary: A smutty little one shot involving Killer!Charlie.
Relationships: Charlie Barber/Reader, Charlie Barber/You
Kudos: 30





	Hits Like Ecstasy

**Author's Note:**

> I've seemed to have started a little frenzy over killer!Charlie over on [tumblr](direnightshade.tumblr.com/) (come say hi!), and I have not been able to get the thought of this out of my head. Please, PLEASE heed the warnings. This is a dark take on the character, so I urge you, if you are uncomfortable with any of the tags listed above, please turn away and do not read this.

_10 minutes. Be ready for me, Kitten._

It’s a simple text, but one that holds so much weight. You know how he gets when he’s like this; short-tempered, muscles tensed, and a murderous glint in his eye. Not even the killing can quell the desire that so often lurks just beneath the surface. It’s always there, lingering, waiting for a chance to be shown with a slice of a blade or a snap of a neck. But the boiling of his urges only ever simmers immediately after his kill. By the time he makes it home again, it is back to a full roil.

You can hear the key as it slides into the deadbolt, the metal clicking to unlock and allow him entry. The sounds of rustling follow just after the door shuts again, his steps now silent once his shoes have been slipped off and discarded in the apartment’s entryway. You’re waiting for him on the bed, all dressed up in his favorite number; you know the one: black, sheer, revealing _just_ enough to keep him interested.

When he steps into the room, he finds you perched up atop the bed, legs dangling over the edge, leaning back on your hands as if to put your entire body on display for him. His eyes rake ravenously over your form, taking note of the way your chest is pushed out, the swells of your breasts barely contained by the bra that you sport.

Charlie says nothing as he sheds his jacket, discarding it on the nearby chair, soon followed by a navy wool cardigan—your favorite.

You watch while he takes his time, allows the silence and the tension to thicken between you, his hands unbuttoning and rolling up each sleeve of his button-down until they settle in place just above his elbow. Only then does he speak.

“On your knees.”

He makes no move towards the bed, instead remaining planted in place just a few steps past the threshold of the room.

As instructed, you slide off of the bed to kneel in front of him, the hardwood floor already pressing uncomfortably against your knees. This is what he wants, of course; wants you to be uncomfortable, wants you to feel the bite of bone on wood. He thrives on it, knowing that you’ll do anything to please him.

His head tilts down, hair framing his face and darkening his eyes even further while he watches your hands make quick work of his belt. Metal jingles and leather _thwips_ when the belt is pulled through the loops of his slacks, tossing it aside with a heavy thunk onto the floor beside you. You take a moment to lean in, to mouth at the sizeable bulge, tongue wetting the fabric of his slacks in the process.

Charlie’s nostrils flare, the only sign that gives away the fact that he’s affected by this, by _you_.

“ _Kitten_.” A single word, spoken like a warning. You’ve begun to go too far. He doesn’t like being teased, your Charlie. Not when he’s too keyed up like this.

Pulling your mouth away from his slacks, you set to work again, unbuttoning and unzipping his slacks. Your fingers hook into the waistband of both his pants and boxers, tugging them down his legs in one swift motion. His cock bobs proudly with its sudden exposure to the surrounding air, twitching in appreciation when your tongue inadvertently darts out to wet your lips.

He’s like velvet on your tongue when you lick along the underside of his cock, taking time to feel every ridge and vein that runs along it. Charlie’s head tips back, eyelids fluttering closed for only a brief moment when you take the head into your mouth, tongue flicking along the frenulum. His jaw falls slack, a soft groan emitted at the sensation, and his hips buck to slip himself further into your mouth.

You hum around him, cheeks hollowing and lips wrapping as tightly around his cock as you can manage; the sensation sends a lick of pleasure racing up along his spine, and his hand presses to the back of your head to push you further onto him still. When he feels himself hit the back of your throat, he pushes even firmer against your head, exhaling a groan when you choke and gag around him, your throat so tight around the head of his cock.

There’s a slight bitter tang that coats the back of your throat from the precum that’s begun to leak out of him, and just as you attempt to pull back, he pushes you forward again, keeping you held in place. His free hand moves to pinch your nose, effectively cutting off any and all air from your lungs, truly choking you now with his cock. The lips that once sealed around him open, a series of chokes and gurgled gags sound in protest of his behavior, your hands lifting to push at his hips.

Charlie watches as spit begins to bubble up around the corners of your mouth, quickly overflowing to drool from your mouth and the underside of his cock. He pinches your nose tighter, keeps you held in place while his other hand moves around to your throat, feeling it bulge out into his palm each time he fucks himself deeper.

Only when it becomes almost too much does he release you entirely, watching when you fall back and gasp desperately for air, chest heaving rapidly in time with your labored breaths.

He steps out of his pants and boxers, kicks them aside whilst simultaneously beginning to unbutton his shirt. “Get on the bed, Kitten. Lie on your stomach.”

With your face still a spit-slicked mess, you do as you’re told, climbing onto the bed and settling down onto your front. Your head turns to watch his movement from your peripheral, listening to rustling of fabric and….something else.

“Hands.”

You’ve been down this road before, know exactly what he wants from you. He doesn’t have to ask twice, and he’s _so pleased_ when you obey, your hands slipping behind you to rest against your lower back.

Using the nylon rope he’d retrieved just moments prior, he bounds your hands nice and tight behind your back. Charlie knows that it’ll chafe, it always does; but that’s what he wants, he _wants_ you marked up with the evidence of what he’s done to you, wants you to be thinking of him always even when he’s not there.

He gives your ass a sharp, biting slap, eliciting a yelp of surprise on your part. “I’ve been thinking of this all night,” he says, his knees resting over the backs of your thighs, feet hooking around your ankles to push your legs further apart. He bends down, his cock pressing against the cleft of your ass, smearing small beads of cum against the sheer lingerie, his breath hot on the side of your face when he speaks again. “Thought about how much you would have liked being there with me tonight, listening to her screams.”

His hips shift, one hand pulling your underwear to the side, the head of his cock catching against your slick heat, already finding you so wet for him. Charlie hums at the soft squelch of your pussy when he presses the head just inside, the walls of your cunt already clenching and fluttering, greedily trying to suck him in further.

“I know how much you like it when they beg for me.”

With a grunt, Charlie sheaths himself deep inside of you, your eyes rolling back into your head at the sudden stretch of his cock. Your jaw falls slack, a whine slipping out last parted lips.

“Tell me,” he grits out, one hand gripping the rope that binds your own together while the other settles against the mattress beside you. He punctuates his demand with a single hard thrust that sends the bed frame shaking, the wooden headboard smacking off of the wall from the force. “ _Tell me_.”

“I do! I do love it,” you cry out, wrists straining against the rope as you twist to look up at him. He’s quick to put a stop to the twisting of your body, however, moving to press his forearm down across your back, effectively pinning you to the bed. A whimper sound in response, Charlie rewarding the sound with another quick, rough thrust.

Your breath hitches in your throat, head turning to muffle your cries into the duvet when he sets a punishing rhythm. Skin _slaps, slaps, slaps_ against skin, the sound filling the room to mingle with your cries and the slick, wet noise of your cunt with each passing thrust of his cock as he holds you down against the bed.

Each drag of his cock in and out of your cunt draws you closer and closer to your release, and he waits—waits for that moment right when he can tell that you’re treading that fine line. It’s right when your cunt begins to flutter and grip him like a glove that he pulls out of you entirely, leaving you wailing in protest at the sudden emptiness. He keeps your leg spread, watching as your cunt convulses around nothing at all, the orgasm you’d been on the edge of fading away. Charlie delivers another harsh slap to your ass, the mattress dipping and swaying as he moves off of it briefly.

It isn’t long until he’s returned, the mattress shifting beneath his weight, springs creaking when he tosses aside a small object before reaching for you, turning you over into your back. He leaves your arms as they are, tied behind you, the nylon rope pressing into the skin of your back.

You’ll burn there too when all is said and done.

Charlie reaches for your ankle, yanking you down until your legs are once again forced apart by the sheer width of his body while he sits back on his haunches. “Tell me, Kitten,” he says, reaching over for the item he’d discarded prior to flipping you over, “what do you like most about it?”

You watch as he flicks open the switchblade, your cunt clenching in automatic response at the sight.

The blade drifts down, the tip carving out a thin line along your skin, stopping only once he reaches the elastic band of your underwear. Your breath hitches when he plucks with the blade’s edge against the fabric, a single brow raised to show his impatience.

“I like the blood,” you admit aloud, though this is far from the first time he’s hearing it.

“What about it?”

“I like—” You pause, inhaling a breath that sounds much like a hiss when Charlie digs the very tip of the blade into your skin, pricking it just enough to make you bleed. “—the way it oozes from the wounds, drips onto the floor; the gurgling, the struggle, all of it. I love it all.”

“It gets you wet, doesn’t it,” he asks, tearing the knife through the sheer fabric with minimal resistance.

Your head nods vehemently in silent response whilst he pulls the destroyer fabric from your body.

Charlie hums when his eyes land on the wetness that’s gathered between your thighs. “Doesn’t it,” he asks again, firmer now just as his hand comes down to slap against your cunt, fingers catching against your clit in the process.

Your hips buck in automatic response, another wail ripping straight from your lungs at the contact. “Yes! Oh, god,” you moan, choking out the words, “yes it does!”

He rewards you with a flick of his thumb against your clit, sending your eyes once again rolling back into your head. His thumb moves back and forth, back and forth, picking up the pace until you’re a writhing mess on the bed, back arching and crying out for him over and over again. It’s then that he abruptly shoves three of his fingers into you, curling them to brush the pads along that sensitive spot within you.

You’re so close, he can tell by the way you’ve begun to tighten around him already and how fucking wet you’re getting. “Fuck,” he murmurs, his cock twitching in vigorous agreement. “You get off on it, don’t you, seeing me with those other girls?”

Your eyes snap open, immediately narrowing, knowing precisely where this is headed. But he doesn’t relent, fingers still pushing into you while his thumb stimulates your clit further. His lips curl to form a knowing smirk. He’s been waiting for this moment the entire trip back home.

“ _Don’t_ ,” you warn, voice tinged with a hint of a whine from the movement of his fingers, but he never fails to catch the agitation lacing your response.

“Like it when I stuff them full of my cock—”

“ _Fuck you_.”

A leg swings up in an attempt to land a kick directly into the side of his head, but he’s quick, much too quick. The knife in his hand drops, cold metal now resting against your abdomen just as he catches your ankle with his free hand, pinning it down to the mattress. He’s unsurprised when your other leg follows suit so soon after the first, and pulling his fingers from the depths of your cunt, he grabs that leg to pin it as well.

But his smirk broadens into a full fledged grin now because _there you are_ , his little spitfire. He knows how much it bothers you, how agitated and murderous you become when you so much as catch a proverbial whiff of him with someone else. He can see it now, the blood lust in your eyes. This is precisely why he’s got your hands tied behind your back; knows that if he hadn’t taken the precaution that you’d surely claw his eyes out, among other things.

His hands slide up to grasp your thighs pulling them wider apart until the joints begin to burn like fire from the stretch. Charlie shifts his hips until he sinks into you once more, relishing in the way you thrash beneath him like a wild animal caught in a snare. _This_ , this is what he was looking for. He loves the fight, and nobody gives a good fight better than you.

A large hand grasps your chin, giving a harsh squeeze to force your jaw open, lips parting to reveal tongue and teeth to him. There is zero hesitation on his part when he spits into your mouth, watching his saliva combine with yours as it settles onto your tongue.

“ _Swallow_.”

There’s a fleeting moment where he can see the thought of disobedience cross your mind, his muscles tensing in preparation of you spitting back at him. But as quickly as the look appears, it dissipates until you’re once again compliant, swallowing as instructed.

Charlie’s hips snap into your own then, the force so great that the bed’s frame knocks against the wall, rattling the headboard in the process. He reaches for the knife that remains on your abdomen and glides the blade along the column of your throat. You can see the way that his eyes darken even further, almost looking completely black now as he drags the blade’s edge against your neck.

You know that look, have seen it too many times to count, and your cunt reacts of its own accord, squeezing him tight in response.

The blade presses against your pulse, digging into the skin until crimson bubbles up to the surface. He’s careful, always so careful with you, never pushing too far—only ever enough. He doesn’t want to hurt _you_ , after all. You aren’t like the others, easily manipulated, wanting him only for the physical and nothing more.

Once he’s satisfied—once you can feel the warm wet sensation of blood trickling down your neck—only then does he discard the knife in favor of bending down for a taste. His tongue laves at the wound, the flavor of copper coating the inside of his mouth. Charlie’s hips give another hard thrust just as his lips wrap around the cut on your neck, sucking to pull up more blood to the surface.

Like before, he continues to snap his hips into your own, setting a punishing pace that punches the breath straight from your lungs. The bed rattles, headboard banging against the wall, springs squeaking in violent protest to Charlie’s thrusts, and with the way that his body covers your own, it’s all you can do but lay there and take it.

He can feel it again, the familiar fluttering of your cunt as you once again reach the brink. Charlie rewards you this time, for letting him taunt you, rile you up and then have his way with you. As his teeth sink into the flesh of your neck, seeking to bruise and mark, he lets you cum on his cock with a shriek and a sob, your body trembling beneath him from the force of your orgasm.

A low groan is emitted when he feels your tight little cunt grip him for the umpteenth time tonight, squeezing him so desperately, wanting to milk him for everything he’s worth. But he isn’t ready, not quite yet. He needs a little something _more_ , something that’ll help to join you in the free fall.

His lips detach from your neck and he sits back, never once ceasing the movement of his hips while he wraps his hands around that pretty neck of yours. Your head tips back, inviting him to squeeze as he so often does on nights like this when he’s so pent up. Charlie tightens his fingers, pressing down into the skin, his hands cutting off your airway with skilled precision. Your attempted gasps for air sound nothing like more than choked garbles, and your body begins to thrash wildly beneath his while he continues to pound into you relentlessly.

_This_ , this is what truly gets him off; the control of it all is what he thrives on, being able to dictate who lives and who dies. He’d _never_ kill you, you know that, but he always pushes just a little too far, just enough to snuff out that confident look in your eye. Only when the slightest hint of fear flashes does he release his hold on you, allowing your burning lungs to fill with oxygen at the exact moment that he fills you with his hot cum.

Charlie’s cock twitches and pulses within the depths of your cunt with such ferocity that his vision blackens around the edges, and his hands grasp your hips so tightly that you both know you’ll sport the evidence of such a grip come morning.

His body collapses onto yours, the weight of him pressing you down into the mattress while the two of you gasp and pant for air. It isn’t until the high of his climax dissipates that he comes back into himself, his head lifting to dot kisses along your jaw until he reaches your mouth. He’s like a different man then, taking his time, gifting softer touches and tender kisses.

When he finally does lift himself off of you, he collects the cum that’s begun to drip from your abused cunt, pushing it back into you with two fingers, making you keep it safe for him like always. Only then does he roll you over with care, untying the binds that held your hands together behind your back, letting you stretch the sore muscles of your shoulders and flex your wrists to get feeling back into them.

It’s intense, this love affair with Charlie, but neither of you would rather spend a moment of time with anyone else. You were made for each other, after all, both in body and spirit.


End file.
